LETTER LXVIII.
To Mrs. Montford.
Banks of Delaware, Nov. 26.
I beseech you, dear Mrs. Montford, take
some measures for drawing our dear Jane
from this place. There is no remedy but absense
from this spot, cheerful company and
amusing engagements, for the sullen grief
which has seized her. Ever since the arrival of
your letter giving us the fatal tidings of your
brother's misfortune, she has been—in a strange
way—I am almost afraid to tell you; I know how
much you love her: but indeed, indeed, unless
somebody with more spirit and skill than I possess,
will undertake to console and divert her,
I am fearful we shall lose her forever.
I can do nothing for her relief. You know
what a poor creature I am. Instead of summoning
up courage to assist another in distress,
the sight of it confuses and frightens me. Never,
I believe was there such another helpless
good-for-nothing creature in existence. Poor
Jane's affecting ways only make me miserable,
and instead of my being of any use to her, her
presence deprives me of all power to attend
to my family and friends. I endeavour to avoid
her, though, indeed, that requires but little
pains to effect, since she will not be seen but
when she cannot choose, for whenever she looks
at me steadily, there is such expression in her
features, something so woeful, so wild, that I
am struck with terror. It never fails to make
me cry heartily.
Come hither yourself, or send somebody immediately.
If you do not, I dread the consequence.
